The Secret Life of Jefferson Tracy
by Louise Hargadon
Summary: Collection of oneshots exploring a few different ideas of what could have happened to Jeff following the plane crash. Because let's face it - we all know that the Silver Fox ain't dead. Rated T for some naughty language. Crosses over a little bit between the TOS and TAG universes.
1. This Message Will Self-Destruct

_**A/N:** Listen up. You know it and I know it. **Jeff** isn't dead. It takes more than an attack by **The Hood** to finish off Jefferson Grant Tracy. And I have a bunch of theories about what he's up to now he's off the Island and pretty much off the grid. Some are silly, some aren't quite so silly, and I can't promise to update too often, but I just hope that everyone who loves and misses Jeff as much as I do enjoys reading these little snippets of whatever-you-call-it._

 _For my **Teebs** , to cheer her up (even if this first one isn't too cheerful!)_

 _ **Disclaimer: Thunderbirds** was created by **Mr & Mrs Anderson** and I am not on the writing team for the new version created by other people. I'm just grabbing **Jeff** and using my imagination - as **Lady Penelope** has probably said once or twice._

 **The Secret Life of Jefferson Tracy**

 **1\. This Message Will Self-Destruct...**

All was dark and silent.

Jeff opened his eyes slowly and tried to take in a deep breath. His mouth was instantly filled with thick acrylic wool. Why was his face covered? He started to panic and tried to move his arms but found these had been tied by his sides. The more he struggled, the tighter his bonds seemed to become. There was a dull ache at the back of his head.

He couldn't remember what had happened to him. One moment he had asked the air hostess if she could refill his empty bourbon glass, the next minute the entire plane started shaking violently and all he could hear was the sound of the air hostess screaming. The next moment, it all went dark - and he had woken up on a chair with a mask over his face.

With no warning, the cover was removed from his face and a brilliant, strong light shone directly into his eyes, dazzling him. He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his face away from the direct beam.

"What goes on here?" he demanded, struggling against the twine that bound him to the chair. _'Who the hell uses twine these days?'_ he wondered, angrily.

"Colonel Tracy," a dark, deep voice said. Jeff tried to turn his head to see who had spoken but couldn't see anything past the glare of the light in his eyes.

"Who are you?"

"I am Lieutenant General Woodcock of the Extreme Threat Division - an officially unknown branch of the NSA." Jeff was just glad that Gordon wasn't with him, there was no way his penultimate son would be able to contain his laughter at a name like Woodcock. The thought of Gordon's hysterical peals of laughter caused Jeff to smirk as he peered through the light to find the owner of the disembodied voice.

"You'll forgive me if I don't salute, son. I'm a little tied up right now," he said, dryly.

"That's quite all right," Lieutenant General Woodcock said. He had either missed or purposely ignored Jeff's pun, which disappointed Jeff a little. He thought it had been one of his best. "No doubt you have some questions."

"Existentially or with specific reference to this situation?" Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You keep a cool head and a steady nerve under pressure. That's good to know," Woodcock said.

"This isn't my first rodeo, kid."

"I know. I've read your file."

"So you'll know I don't take too kindly to this cloak and dagger nonsense?" Jeff asked, setting his jaw firmly, the mildly amused smile disappearing from his voice and eyes.

Instead of hearing a reply, the bright light was switched off and Jeff was plunged into a palpable darkness and an accompanying heavy silence. He closed his eyes and focussed on keeping his breathing and heart rate slow and steady. _'They're trying to scare you. Don't let 'em win.'_ He started counting slowly in his head - odd numbers on the inhale, even numbers on the exhale - to focus on the moment.

He had reached number 62 when the light came back on. This time it was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling and Jeff looked around the small cell. One door behind him. One window to his left. Too small for him to climb through. He tensed against his bonds again. For the moment, he was definitely trapped. His life didn't seem to be in immediate danger. Aside from the throbbing pain at the back of his head, had had sustained no other physical injury. He looked up at Woodcock, a large, thick-set man with large dark eyes that had seen so much war and horror that they no longer sparkled with life. He was battle-hardened, world-weary and Jeff knew not to underestimate him.

"We have a proposition for you, Colonel," Woodcock said. Jeff frowned.

"You guys never heard of e-mail?" he asked. "And you can quit with the formalities, I haven't been in the Air Force for a very long time. I'm a plain old 'Mister' and I like it that way."

"Very well, Mr Tracy," Woodcock said, emphasising the word 'mister' as if it was a profanity.

He reached into his pocket, and with an air of embellishment that didn't seem to match his persona, brandished a switchblade. Jeff sat back a little in his seat, unsure of what was going to happen next. He was relieved to discover that Woodcock's intention had only been to cut the twine which bound him to his chair.

"We have heard of e-mail. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that all electronic correspondence can be tracked, though," he said.

"What the hell kind of proposition could you have for me that you want to keep this level of secrecy over?" Jeff demanded. Woodcock's lips smiled, but the rest of his face remained stoic and emotionless.

"I'm sure you of all people know about secrets."

"I don't know what you mean," Jeff said, hoping his tone didn't reflect how nervous he suddenly felt.

"Of course you don't. Let me show you," Woodcock said, handing a paper file to Jeff. Jeff flicked through a few pages and his stomach started churning. Woodcock had a file on Tracy Island. There was a photograph of Thunderbird 1 launching from beneath the retracted swimming pool, of Thunderbird 4 taking a test voyage around the perimeter of the Island, of machinery being delivered to Tracy Island. There were surveillance pictures of his sons on Tracy Island. There was an extremely pixelated photograph of Kayo. Finally, Jeff looked up and slammed the file into Woodcock's chest.

"Are you gonna tell me exactly who I have to sue for breach of my sons' human rights? These are my children. I already have taken great pains and paid some extortionate legal fees to make sure their privacy is permanently protected," Jeff said, not bothering to hide his emotions, his blue eyes almost glowing with seething anger. "Alan is still in school. I'm sure your secret department wouldn't want to be brought to the public's attention for taking unauthorised pictures of schoolboys, would it?" Jeff's tone was low, clear and simmering with rage. He had been victim to blackmail attempts before, as had every other billionaire. It was part of the territory and Jeff had shrugged each of them off with a finite degree of disinterest. But a governmental department using his sons to come after him? That was a whole new level of low, and Jeff was not going to stand for it.

"I don't think you'd want to put your sons' lives in danger by anyone finding out exactly who the members of International Rescue are, and exactly where their base of operations is, would you?" Woodcock replied. If he was in any way unnerved by Jeff's reaction, he certainly didn't show it. Jeff knew what this was. He knew that Woodcock was trying to make Jeff angry so he would lose his temper. Jeff breathed in deeply and held it for a few moments before sitting back in his chair.

"You have nothing," he said. "You have a few blurry photos with no time or date stamp, no geographical location, nothing. If you've got real proof that International Rescue is anything to do with me, let me see it. But let me tell you something. If you want to negotiate working with me, you've gone the wrong way about it. You do not threaten my sons. You do not go near them."

"We aren't interested in your sons, Mr Tracy," Woodcock said, picking out a single picture and handing it to him. It was the picture of Kayo. "It's this girl. We have intelligence that leads us to believe that she is connected to a criminal known as The Hood."

"Where do you get your intelligence from?" Jeff asked.

"It's classified."

"So is mine," Jeff shot back at him.

"You don't seem to understand. We _will_ expose you."

"That's gonna be a hardship to deal with. 'Billionaire philanthropist also secretly goes round saving people for grins'. Yeah, I'll take that, no matter who is in charge of International Rescue," Jeff said with a nonchalant shrug.

"We seem to be at an impasse," Woodcock said, blandly.

"No. We haven't even started," Jeff said, standing to his full height as he stood approximately two inches from Woodcock's nose. "You want help, I'll help. But you ask for it the right way. Don't fucking kidnap me and try to scare me or threaten me to help you. I'm too fucking old and too fucking angry to be threatened. I don't negotiate with blackmailers, I don't care who they work for."

"All right. So negotiate," Woodcock offered, a sardonic smile threatening at the right corner of his mouth.

"You don't want the girl. You want The Hood. I get it. He has to be stopped. I'll do what I can to help you get him. But if one more photograph of my sons is taken without our full knowledge or consent - I will find you, and you had best believe me, Buster - I **will** kill you," Jeff said, seriously, his voice cold and even. "You leave my boys alone, or you die. THAT is my proposition."

"You make a very convincing argument."

"Take it or leave it," Jeff said, stepping back and sitting back on the chair.

"Counter-proposal. Nobody dies. No more photographs are taken. But you work for us. You don't go home until this is over," Woodcock said. "Either way, you don't leave this facility until we've captured The Hood and made sure that this girl is no threat to US security." Jeff knew what that phrase meant. Kayo would be arrested and tortured to reveal what precious little she knew of her uncle. Jeff couldn't let that happen to her. She was now just as much a part of his family as any other Tracy.

"Why would I agree to that?" he asked, still refusing to back down until he was sure there was no other option.

"We have reason to believe that The Hood was responsible for the plane crash," Woodcock explained. "Official reports are sixty-three fatalities and forty-one missing."

"What about me?"

"You're one of the missing. The government have already contacted your family to confirm your status as missing."

Jeff's shoulders slumped forward as the weight of Woodcock's statement sank in. His sons had already lost their mother. Now they would think they had lost their father. Hadn't they been through enough? What about his mother? She had only come to live on the Island temporarily while she waited for her new bungalow at the Waikiki Retirement Village to be built. The boys were more than old enough to take care of themselves, of course. But his mother would insist on staying to keep an eye on them. He supposed someone needed to bully Alan into doing his homework now and again. She would need them, too. She was a tough, independent old battleaxe, but she had become more reliant on having contact with her family since his father had died. That was why she was moving from Kansas to Hawaii, to be a little closer to them while still maintaining her independence.

He would have to find some way to let the boys know he was alive. He couldn't let them go on grieving him.

The way Jeff saw it, he now had two options. Do as he had been asked and maybe get to go home at the end of it - or be thrown into an unknown prison by an officially unknown security department and be powerless to help when these people came to arrest Kayo. She was tough, all right. She was probably tougher than most, if not all, of his sons. But everyone had their limits, and organisations like this one could be very meticulous about finding those limits and would have no compunction about breaking them.

He couldn't let Kayo suffer for something that had absolutely nothing to do with her. After a long silence, he finally looked up at Woodcock and nodded once.

"I guess the sooner we get started, the sooner I can go home," he said. Woodcock smiled one of his emotionless smiles again.

"That's the spirit," he said, a false tone of encouragement in his voice. "Your country thanks you."

"My country can go fuck itself," Jeff growled, narrowing his eyes.


	2. Memories I Never Can Escape

_**A/N:** Thanks so much for all your kind words about the first fic in this series! I'm so pleased you enjoyed it. I'm almost sorry I won't be carrying on with that storyline because I'd be interested to see how it turns out as well. Unfortunately, my brain and circumstances won't let me write more than a oneshot at the moment. Besides, my commitment skills aren't the most reliable, as longstanding followers of my multi-chapter stories will tell you! I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of my headcanons in this collection, though._

 _The title for this song is taken from **Amnesia** by **5 Seconds of Summer** and was written in part by the **Madden** twins of **Good Charlotte** fame._

 **2\. Memories I Never Can Escape**

The grey-haired man breathed steadily. He no longer needed the ventilator, which was a good sign. The saline drip in his arm and the nasogastric tube made sure he didn't starve or dehydrate, the cocktail of IV painkillers in his other arm made sure that he would remain comfortable at least until he woke up. Whenever that may be.

A nurse walked into his room and took a moment to look at him, a rather forlorn expression on her face. She was in her mid-thirties and looked as though she hadn't slept properly since she had got her nursing degree. She was medium-build, a little plump, and had auburn hair carelessly clipped back out of her face. A few loose strands had fallen around her face and she occasionally blew them away when they started tickling her nose or chin.

"You still asleep, John Doe?" she asked, neither expecting nor receiving a reply. "It's been eight weeks now, you know that?" she asked. "Three days since you came off the ventilator. Still waiting for you to show up."

He was her patient. Not in the true sense, of course. She was no doctor, she had no way of diagnosing or prescribing any treatment for him. But from a nursing point of view, he was hers. She had swapped with another nurse for a ninety-year-old lady who swore like a docker and constantly flirted with every male nurse within a twenty feet radius of her. She was an absolute scream. In fact, she screamed too, when the mood took her. The mood took her quite a lot. A lovely lady but at the end of a fifty-hour weekly shift and approximately 40 other patients to care for, it had taken the nurse quite some time to recover and for the ringing in her ears to stop.

She needed a break. A nice, quiet, trouble-free, sedated patient who let her take his obs without complaint or obstruction. He had no identification on his person, just a small pocket album containing five photographs, professional portraits of five men who didn't instantly look too similar to each other, but definitely looked like they were all related. These were now next to his bed, but had originally been found in the inside left pocket of the jacket he was wearing when he was brought in. _'Keeping these guys close to his heart,'_ she thought when she first saw the pictures. She guessed that they were his sons, especially the dark-haired one with the piercing blue eyes and who looked exactly the same as she imagined her John Doe would have looked twenty years ago.

He was in his mid-fifties and although he was obviously a handsome, athletic-looking man, he certainly looked his age. He had eight weeks' worth of beard growth and she wondered what he looked like clean-shaven. She wondered what sort of a life he had, what his wife was like, what job he did, what sort of cologne he used. She wondered what his voice was like, if it was deep and rough or if it was a little higher but soft and gentle. He had a kind face. He looked as though he would listen to a girl's problems and probably help to solve them. He looked like a man who would really care about the people he loved, and wouldn't be afraid to show it.

She had built up such a picture of him in her head that she had to admit she'd secretly developed a little crush on her John Doe. Not a real one, of course. For a start, he was her patient. Also, she had no idea what her husband would have to say about her crushing on a fifty-year-old ex-coma patient. It was just nice to have a face to talk to on the ward, that was all. Even if - well, _especially_ if - he didn't reply.

"It's a beautiful day," she said, cheerfully. "Sun's shining, birds are singing. The whole world is lookin' pretty damn beautiful out there. You're missing all this." She stopped at his window and looked outside at the truth of her statement. She blew her hair out of her face and looked back at him. "It's a lovely day for a walk. I might take you out for a stroll when you're strong enough," she said.

Taking one last, longing look outside the window and wishing these three minute observations lasted for three hours so she could get some time to herself for a change, she heaved a sigh and lowered her head.

"Okay, fella. Let's do this."

She gently placed two fingers on the pulse point on his wrist and counted his heart rate. Sixty-two. It was a little low, but then he was heavily sedated after briefly regaining consciousness from his coma. He had been in a lot of pain and had been very distressed upon regaining consciousness and so, in order to help his physical injuries to heal, it had been decided to sedate him for at least the next forty-eight hours. John Doe had been brought in eight weeks earlier. He had been found by a local farmer in his field following a plane crash nearby. The man had been lucky enough to have a parachute, which broke his fall, but he had landed awkwardly, broken both legs, two ribs and had received a blow to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. Nobody was quite sure how long he had been unconscious when he was found.

John Doe had made a rather spectacular recovery. His temperature was now normal, and his blood pressure was also low, but, from the rest of his observations and the fact he was on so much medication it was still within the normal limits for him. His pupils reacted to light so she knew he was responsive but very heavily sedated. It was a relief to take observations with no hindrance, no questions, no morphine patients trying to grab her ass because they didn't quite know what they were doing. It was just her and John Doe, kicking back for three whole minutes of almost uninterrupted silence.

"You got a clean bill of health, pal," she said. "If you woke up I could give you a high five. You gotta wake up sometime, y'know. I'll only stop nagging you when you wake up. Not even then. I gotta help you get better till you get home to Mrs John Doe and the kids, even if I have to kill you for it!" she joked. She chuckled and then cleared her throat. "You wouldn't even laugh at that if you were awake, no matter how many drugs we've got you on," she said with a shrug. She blew her hair out of her face and the air ruffled one or two of his strands of hair. She smiled. "You must've been a real hot tamale back in the day, big guy," she said. She laughed again. She'd never get away with calling a patient a hot tamale to their face. She didn't even think she'd actually called anyone a hot tamale before, not in all seriousness. Certainly not her husband, he was far from a hot tamale. He was more of a soggy burrito.

She squeezed the palm of his left hand twice in quick succession with her two fingers. "See you in an hour."

To her amazement, his fingers clasped around hers and squeezed weakly. Her eyes widened.

"God, he's waking up!" she muttered to herself. "Sir? Sir can you hear me?" she asked, urgently as she watched his long eyelashes flutter for a moment before he opened his eyes. Wow, they were even bluer than she thought they were. 'Focus, girl!' she scolded herself. "Sir, can you hear me?" she asked. He swallowed and looked in her direction but said nothing. She pressed her personal alarm button three times to alert the doctor.

"Where am I?" he whispered. His throat was as dry as a desert and it hurt when he swallowed. He coughed violently.

"You're in a general hospital in Odessa, Texas, sir. I'm a duty nurse. I've alerted a doctor and they should be here any moment. I'll see you get some water," she said, adusting his pillows to help him get more comfortable. He nodded his head once but his eyelids proved too heavy for him and he started to fall back asleep. "No, don't fall asleep. Stay with me," she insisted, raising her voice a little. She squeezed his arm gently. "Come on, fella, don't go back to sleep. We need you awake now."

The man's gaze was heavy-lidded and barely alert. He seemed to look straight through her with deadened eyes. He swallowed again and his throat hurt. He licked his lower lip slightly and rubbed his lips together, then with great effort he tried to talk. No words seemed to make sense, and none were enunciated clearly. The nurse wasn't too worried by this, he was on some very strong drugs, he was still recovering from a head injury and there was no way of her knowing at that moment how much swelling there was around his brain.

Moments later, the doctor arrived to examine the patient.

"Can you tell me your name, sir?" he asked. The patient moved his head slowly to look in the doctor's direction and stared through him with heavy, glazed eyes. "Sir? Can you speak? Has he said anything?" he asked the nurse. She shook her head.

"He asked where he was, then it's just been a little babbling. Not much," the nurse replied.

"That's encouraging at least," the doctor said. "His reactions seem quite appropriate. He seems to respond to you, why don't you ask him his name?" he suggested.

She looked at the patient. "Can you tell me your name?"

The patient closed his eyes and shook his head once. "I can't," he said, using every ounce of the little strength he had.

"Leave him sleep a little longer. I probably couldn't remember my name either if I was on that many painkillers," the doctor muttered to the nurse. "I'll examine him in three hours. The nasogastric tube can be removed but keep the saline and reduce his morphine," he instructed. The nurse nodded before looking back at the man in the bed, who kept blinking firmly and visibly trying to wake himself up.

"I'll be back in an hour," she told him, gently. "Just rest. You're doing great."

"Thank you, Lucy," the doctor called over his shoulder as she walked away.

"Lucy," the man said, the smallest hint of urgency in his dull tone. Lucy turned to him.

"What is it?" she asked. He lifted his head to look at her and swallowed painfully again before attempting to talk.

"I know Lucy."

"You do?" she asked, hopefully. "Who is she?" He shook his head after a pause.

"Dunno," he said, the physical act of thinking proving far too much for him. Lucy smiled sympathetically at him.

"Get some rest, big guy. It'll come back to you," she said in a cheerful tone, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. The doctor looked over his shoulder at the closed door and shrugged. He wasn't sure how informal nurses were supposed to be with patients nowadays. There again, the patient was barely conscious as it was, he was hardly likely to put a complaint in.

"I'll be back to see you again, Mr Doe," the doctor said brightly. The patient nodded his head dumbly as he battled furiously to stay awake until the doctor left the room.

"My Lucy," he mumbled before finally losing his bravely-fought struggle with sleep.


	3. You're About To Get Shell Shocked

_**A/N:** I kinda got dared into this one by Teebs in a very roundabout way via Tumblr. I did say quite clearly at the start that these things are all just headcanons, and so therefore some are far more ridiculous than others. This is one of them. Jeff Tracy meets the **Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**. Yes that's right, I went there. I totally did. Don't even pretend that this isn't a crossover you've all secretly wanted your entire lives... (okay fine, maybe it's just me, then)_

 _ **Disclaimer: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles** were originally created by **Kevin Eastman** and **Peter Laird** and are now owned by **Nickelodeon**. Title is taken from " Shell Shocked", the theme to the 2014 TMNT film, by **Juicy J, Wiz Khalifa, Ty Dolla $ign, Kill The Noise and Madsonik**. No, I'd never heard of them either. _

_Also, my apologies to any Japanese readers who note my (terrible) translation of a particular line in this story. I used Google Translate in the absence of actually knowing any Japanese people I could ask. Sorry._

 **3\. You're About To Get Shell Shocked**

"Why did you bring him here?"

"Bro, look at him! Maybe he's a wizard!"

"I don't think he's a wizard, Mikey."

"He's like a hundred years old! He's got all this grey hair! He has to be a wizard!"

"Not necessarily, uh, if you take someone like Harry Potter, for example, he was a wizard but he was -"

"I don't think you're helping, Donnie."

"Maybe he'll magic us up a sixty-two cheese pizza?"

"C'mon, Mikey, that's just a legend, those things don't really exist!"

"WIZARDS CAN MAKE 'EM!"

"We gotta get this dude outta here before Sensei sees him and-"

"Before Sensei sees who, Leonardo?"

Four green heads tilted sharply upwards before one slowly turned around.

"Funny story, Sensei," Leonardo said, giggling awkwardly as he began his frantic search for an appropriate way to explain his current predicament.

"It wasn't funny at all, some dude fell outta the sky and landed on Mikey's head," Raphael chipped in.

"Where the hell am I?" a voice behind him asked in a low, groggy tone.

"The wizard's waking up!" Michaelangelo said in a hushed, reverent tone before rushing over to the dazed figure on the couch. "Your Wizardness... umm... Your Magicalness! How did you come to this realm, dude? You lost, man?" he asked.

Jeff Tracy blinked four times as he looked at Michaelangelo, but he didn't reply.

"Maybe he doesn't speak English!" Michaelangelo thought aloud. "Donnie! Have you got your translator machine? Maybe he's Canadian!"

"Mikey, he's already spoken in English! Besides, Canadians speak English too!" Donatello answered wearily, walking over to his younger brother. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" he asked.

Jeff continued blinking intermittently. He had no idea what to say. One minute the pilot announced he was losing control of the plane, the next, he was... where the hell was he? What the hell was happening?

He sniffed the air and his expression crumpled in disgust.

"It smells like sh-"

"You're in the sewers, sir," Donnie said, quickly interrupting him. Mikey still didn't know that the smell in the sewers was attributable to human waste and the very idea of it would have sent him into a state of apoplexy.

"What am I doing here?" he asked. He had more pressing questions, of course, like why he was having a conversation with a large talking... what even was that thing? A frog? A terrapin?

"Raph found you, Your Royal Enchanter!" Mikey said, not even daring to look Jeff in the eye. Jeff frowned.

"I only found him because he'd LANDED ON YOUR HEAD, doofus!" Raph answered, grumpily.

"I'm... I'm not a wizard, son," Jeff said, cautiously.

"You're not?" Mikey asked.

"No, I'm just a regular guy," Jeff said. Michaelangelo heaved a loud sigh of relief.

"All right! It's okay, guys, he's just a regular dude like us!" he called to his brothers. Jeff's eyes widened.

"I'm not... I'm not quite as regular as you," he said, sitting up cautiously. "I mean, I don't... have my own bandana, for one thing..."

Mikey tilted his head to one side and looked up at Jeff with his huge baby blue eyes that would quite probably have melted the heart of a rock. Jeff looked back at him and felt the strangest wave of paternal emotion wash over him. Without another word, Mikey untied his bandana and placed it carefully in Jeff's hands. Jeff looked from the bandana to Mikey's freckled face and back again.

"Thank you," Jeff said, genuinely touched by the kind gesture.

"No problemo, old dude. If you feel like you don't fit in, it can stop people seeing how awesome you really are!" Michaelangelo said, squeezing Jeff's arm affectionately. Jeff blinked twice. He was approximately ninety-eight percent sure he was having a bizarre dream.

"My name's Jeff," he said.

"I'm Michaelangelo. These are my brothers, Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello," Mikey said, pointing to his brothers in turn before gesturing towards a large purple-robed rat behind them. "This is Master Splinter. He's our sensei and our Dad. He's old like you," he said.

"Michaelangelo!" Splinter said, sharply. Mikey blushed and Jeff couldn't help but smile. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. Everything seemed real enough, but his brain still refused to allow him to believe what was right in front of his eyes.

"I don't think I'm awake... but it's nice to meet you all, anyway."

"I know we look strange to you, Jeff. But I can assure you, you are in no danger here," Splinter said in a gentle voice. "Is there anything we can get for you?"

"I guess a stiff drink's outta the question?" Jeff asked. The turtles frowned but Splinter grinned and let out a breath of laughter.

"Leave it to me, Jeff. Mikey's gonna rustle you up a stiff milkshake like you never even SEEN before!" Mikey said, cheerfully. "So much ice-cream in it you can stick a spoon in there and it'll stay up!" Jeff laughed indulgently. That absolutely was not what he meant, but he didn't care. The easy humour and sunshine soul of the little turtle was infectious. In a strange way, he reminded Jeff a little of Gordon.

"Thanks, Mikey," he said. "How long have you lived here?" he asked, turning to Splinter.

"Fifteen years," Splinter said.

"I bet you've got a helluva backstory!" Jeff commented. Splinter nodded.

"You could say that. How about you, my friend?"

"I guess you could say that, too," Jeff answered with a grin. "These are your boys?" he asked, gesturing to the other turtles. Splinter nodded.

"They're adopted," he said. "Which explains why they don't look like me," he added, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he chuckled. Jeff smiled.

"I have five boys. A little older than yours."

"Where are they?"

"Home. I hope!" Jeff answered. "We, uh... we kind of run a business together."

"You must be a very important family," Splinter said. Jeff burst out laughing and shook his head.

"God, no! It's my boys. They do the hard work out front. I just sit here at the back trying to keep them in check!" he said. Splinter nodded.

"That is a feeling I can easily relate to," Splinter said. "I trained the turtles in ninjitsu, as my father trained me."

"Turtles who are ninjas?" Jeff exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Well! If that don't beat all! Do you have a use for nijitsu in the sewers?" he asked.

"You'd be surprised how often it comes in handy in New York," Leo said, mysteriously. Jeff shook his head.

"I wouldn't!"

"Here it is!" Mikey declared, walking in with the largest milkshake Jeff had ever seen.

"Heavens to Betsy!" Jeff exclaimed, not sure that he had ever used that phrase before in his life and quite sure he'd never use it again unless he saw a larger milkshake, which he wasn't sure was actually possible.

"I know, right!" Mikey said, his grin almost overtaking his entire face. "There's vanilla, chocolate, cookie dough, cream, jellybeans, anchovies, two types of sausage, topped with worms, algae and a morello cherry. Awww. Yeaaahhh!" he announced, closing his eyes and waggling his head with smug pride.

Jeff felt sick. He looked up at Splinter in a silent plea for help. Splinter was already ahead of Jeff in his mindset. His kind, warm-hearted youngest son was sometimes just not quite human enough for the outside world. Especially when it came to deciding what was and wasn't edible.

"Mikey, my son, your generosity is one of your greatest strengths. However, our guest has had a very strong shock to the system. Perhaps your milkshake will prove to be a little rich for his human constitution," Splinter suggested. Jeff sighed with relief. Mikey looked momentarily crestfallen before his eyes lit up as he realised it meant that there was more milkshake for him.

"No problemo, Jeff. I'll have it for ya!" he offered. His three brothers all exclaimed in protest.

"Tell him, Leo, he's gotta share that!"

"Raph's right, there's too much for one, Mikey."

"I've got some spare beakers in my lab, we could share it out in those!"

"Perhaps you'd like a slightly less protein-rich drink, Jeff?" Splinter asked. Jeff nodded. "Follow me," he said. Jeff cautiously stood up and wobbled for a moment.

"Here, let me help," Leonardo said, grabbing Jeff's arm to steady him. Jeff patted Leo gently on the shell.

"Thanks, son."

He followed Splinter into the dojo and obeyed Splinter's instruction to kneel at the table in the corner. After a few moments of hearing cupboards opening and closing, liquid pouring into cups, and the sound of paws and robes shuffling and rustling, a small cup of transluscent white liquid was set before him. He frowned suspiciously before looking up at Splinter. Splinter closed his eyes and nodded his head once before speaking.

"Sake."

"Sake?!" Jeff repeated, incredulously. Splinter grinned at him.

"I was not always the rat you see before you. Many years ago, I, too, was a human," he explained. Jeff blinked, now completely convinced that he was dreaming. "I have lived through hard times. I understand that water may be the source of life, but man has other needs too."

Splinter kneeled down at the other side of the table from Jeff, picked up the cup of sake before him with his front paws, and raised it in front of him.

"Kore ha anata no jido-ka sareta me no naka no doro desu!" he said. Jeff frowned.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It is a relatively new Japanese expression that roughly translates as, 'here's mud in your automated eye'," Splinter explained. Jeff laughed loudly.

"I think you and I are going to be great friends, Splinter!" he said, raising his cup aloft before knocking it back in one gulp.


	4. Women Glow and Men Plunder

_**A/N:** I can't believe that people actually liked the Turtles chapter! That's hilarious! Thank you everyone (also thank you so much to my Japanese guest reader for a proper translation of 'here's mud in your automated eye'! You are wonderful, thank you!). I hope you enjoy this chapter. This is slightly less silly. Slightly. I refuse to apologise to anyone for my unending shipping of Jeff/Penelope._

 _The title is taken from **Men At Work** 's song **Land Down Under** , and if you didn't know that then I don't know what to tell you._

 **2\. Women Glow and Men Plunder**

"But... but... _M'LADY_!"

"Parker, I do believe you are turning into something of a snob," Penelope said, a smile in her voice that always seemed to let Parker know when he was overstepping his mark. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with flying on a charter plane."

"Yes, M'Lady," he said in a dejected voice. Penelope smiled. He was using Yes M'Lady #36. Parker had at least sixty-two different intonations of saying "Yes, M'Lady," and very few of them actually meant a simple acknowledgement of instruction. Most of them indicated that he felt put upon and was not remotely on board for any of her plans, yet he had no choice but to comply. "H'it still seems to be h'a lot of trouble to go such h'a long way. Your farm in h'Australia will take you days to get to."

"Don't exaggerate, Parker. It's 2060, not 1960. Mechanical engineering has progressed a little since then, you know."

"h'I'm sure Scott would've taken you in Thunderbird One h'if you'd h'asked 'im," Parker said.

"Yes, Parker, I am sure that Scott would have taken me anywhere if I'd asked him, providing that he didn't have a rescue to attend to. Besides, what would Jeff Tracy have said if he knew one of the Thunderbirds was being used for a pleasure cruise?" she asked. "He would quite simply have a pink fit!"

"Mr Tracy 'asn't been 'ere for two months, M'Lady," Parker said, sullenly. Penelope set her jaw and breathed deeply before speaking.

"Jeff is missing. He is not dead. Please don't talk about my friend as though he isn't here any more. I know he's alive. I absolutely know it."

Parker was silent for a few moments, trying to figure out the most appropriate response. Eventually, he couldn't hold his feelings in any more. "But a CHARTER flight, M'Lady!"

"Yes, Parker. A charter flight."

"Look what 'appened to Miss Kyrano when she last got h'a charter plane!"

"That was an entirely different situation, Parker. I will not be travelling via Fireflash and if the Hood decides to sabotage the plane, which I strongly doubt, then I'm afraid that's just terribly bad luck," she said, sternly. "Now. Will you please start the engine? I fastened my seatbelt fifteen minutes ago, and I believe I need to be there within thirty minutes if I want to check-in on time," she said, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes to signify the end of the conversation. Parker rolled his eyes and sighed like a sulky teenager.

"Yes, M'Lady," he mumbled. Penelope grinned. Yes M'Lady #22 - roughly translated as, _"I'll do it, but if this goes wrong and you break your neck, don't come running to me, M'Lady."_

The journey to the airport was rather quiet, as Parker's silent disapproval was almost deafening. Penelope had no desire to go through the rigmarole of arranging a private flight to her farm, having the private air hostesses bothering her every five minutes to top up her drink, the pilot trying to make polite chit-chat, the peculiar feeling of being the only passenger and the sole focus of attention. She wanted a little anonymity and to just blend in with everyone else for a while, have the complete freedom of nobody knowing who she was.

Perhaps the distraction of a plane full of chatter would stop her from thinking about Jeff. Every time she spent any amount of time at her farm, she remembered fondly the time she forced Jeff into having a holiday there. He had kicked against it, of course, but he was exhausted and he needed to stop. He needed to get far away from Tracy Island and International Rescue and catch up on sleep, recharge his batteries and remember who Jeff was. He wasn't the tired, stressed out, short-tempered leader of International Rescue and Tracy Industries. He was her friend, a funny, smart, kind-hearted man who would do anything to make the people he loved happy. He always had time to talk about anything that was on his sons' minds, on her mind, and either offer emotional support or try and help come up with a practical solution to any problem he was presented with. Occasionally, he'd personally go into Tracy Industries' main headquarters and stop the domestic staff from working, take them all for breakfast and chat to them about anything that was worrying them, whether it was work related or not. He genuinely cared for people. But too many months of burning the candle at both ends had turned him into a grumpy man who only wanted two extra hours in the day so he could spend them worrying about everything.

He had only stayed a few days with her before he felt he had to return home. She shook her head as she remembered how anxious he was to make sure his sons were safe. She was sure that, even after all these years, he would only ever be able to start relaxing when all of his sons were tucked up safely in bed.

It was the second time she had been to the farm since Jeff had gone missing. Even though she had owned the farm for much longer than she had known Jeff, even though Jeff hadn't visited the farm very often, she had thought about him there more than ever while she had been there last time. She hoped things would be easier this time. Somehow, even after two months, she still didn't miss Jeff any less. He had been such a huge part of her life for so long and then, suddenly, with no warning, he was gone. She hadn't had chance to say goodbye. She hadn't had chance to see his slow, dimpled smile, or be uncomfortably conscious that her cheeks were reddening as she felt his gaze upon her one last time. He was just **gone**. Oh yes, she knew his body had never been found, but after two months, her hope was all but gone that he'd ever come back, no matter how bravely she talked about it to Parker. She knew she was able to cope without him, she knew the next generation of Tracys were more than capable of looking after themselves. International Rescue was in no danger of imploding just because Jeff wasn't there. She was in no danger of imploding just because Jeff wasn't there. It didn't alter the fact that she wanted him to be there every second that he wasn't, though.

A long, weary journey later, including a four-hour drive from the airport to the farm, and Penelope heard the satisfying click as the key turned in the lock of the front door. It wasn't pitch dark, so she wandered through the living room without turning the light on, lazily throwing her coat over a chair and dropping her handbag on the floor.

 _Creak..._

Penelope stopped suddenly, every nerve fibre on edge. Someone was in her house. It was dark, somehow it seemed about fifty times darker than it had done three seconds ago, and someone was in her house. All she had to defend herself with was her twelve-hundred-dollar Louis Vuitton stilettos, and she had no intention of ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes on an intruder. She had to think of another way, and fast.

 _Creak..._

There it was again. She frowned. Whoever was in the room had absolutely no skills in sneaking up on anyone. They would make a terrible ninja.

"I know you're there!" she called, trying to sound brave but unable to hide the tremble in her voice. "I'm not afraid!" she said, not very believably. She heard a breath of laughter and her hands started shaking. Was this it? Was this how she was to die? Parker would be torn between being upset about needing to find a new job and feeling smug about the fact that her decision to take a charter flight had ended terribly.

When she felt a strong, heavy hand on her shoulder she screamed briefly before grabbing the hand and its adjoined arm, twisting her body and flooring the intruder. She could just about make out the outline of a man, and so she put her shoes to good use and kicked him sharply and swiftly between the legs. He cried out in agony and suddenly Penelope realised she had made a terrible mistake.

"Christ, Penny, I still need to use that!"

"Jeff?" she asked, in a small voice. Her heart pounded in her chest and the air seemed to have completely disappeared from the room. "Jeff, is that you?" she demanded, urgently.

"I kinda wish it wasn't," he said, weakly, before rolling over and groaning in pain. She rushed over to the wall and felt for the light switch. When she turned back, she saw Jeff lying on the floor in the foetal position, tears streaming down his face. She instantly felt guilty.

"Oh my god, Jeff! JEFF!" she shouted, rushing over to him. "I am SO sorry," she said, helping him up and into a chair. "Oh JEFF!" she said, choking back a sob as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I thought you were dead," she said, kissing every last inch of his face before hugging him again. "Oh my god, Jeff, I really thought you were dead!"

"Hey, shh, don't. It's all right, Penny. It's all right," he said, soothingly, holding her close to him and stroking her hair gently. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I worried you. I've been trying to get to call you for weeks," he said.

"I didn't even know where or how to start searching for you," she said. She closed her eyes and silently revelled in the feeling of being held in his arms again.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered, holding her even more tightly to him as he spoke. She trembled slightly and pulled away from him just enough to kiss him. She didn't know whether she had missed his arms or his lips more but now she had both at the same time she could barely remember what her life had been like without them. She forgot all the sleepless nights, all the tears, all the worry and the stress and the keeping a brave face because nobody knew... god, nobody could ever know, she didn't think she could ever explain just how much Jeff Tracy meant to her.

"I can't believe you're really here," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "How did you end up here, of all places?"

"I dunno. The plane came down somewhere in the bush. I have no idea where I was, I had no ID, no wallet, no phone, nothing. I spent the last eight weeks hitching rides across the country. I walked a lot. I got here two days ago and I slept for about twenty-four hours," he said.

"How did you get in?"

"One of your farmhands recognised me. I dunno how, I looked like the wild man of the woods, I hadn't even changed my shirt in eight weeks. I made Papa Smurf look clean-shaven!" he joked. She laughed.

"I'm so very glad that farmhand was around," she said.

"Not as glad as I am! Lucky I left most of my stuff here from that time I stayed with you for those five minutes," he said. "I wanted to call as soon as I got here, I just... I didn't know what to say."

"You could've tried 'hello', that's a socially acceptable greeting in most cultures," she said, her eyes twinkling. She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled so broadly without consciously making the effort to do so. Jeff was safe. Jeff was alive. He was alive and she was sitting next to him and he was real. He was real and warm and soft, and his hands were rough and gentle and they held hers so securely she didn't think she'd ever be afraid again, and he smelled of soap and aftershave and he was everything she had missed about him.

"I thought something as simple as 'hello' after two months of nothing would probably feel a little inappropriate," he admitted.

"To be fair, so was a kick in the balls," she said, blushing slightly. He laughed.

"I guess so," he agreed.

"Thank you for not making any jokes about me rubbing it better," she added with a chuckle far dirtier than she had originally intended.

"I've gotta admit I was definitely thinking it," he said with a knowing smirk. She stroked his face and pressed her lips gently against his.

"Perhaps later," she said with a wry grin. He wiggled his eyebrows as his grin quickly took over his entire face. His facial expression then became quite grave and he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"I guess I should call the boys," he said. She shook her head.

"Oh no, you don't!" she insisted, clutching the collar of his shirt firmly in one hand. "I've only just this minute got you back, Jefferson Grant Tracy. For tonight, I want to keep you all to myself," she said, her eyes gleaming.

"You sure make a convincing argument," he murmured, pulling her closer to him and kissing her deeply.


End file.
